


the freckles in our eyes [are perfectly aligned]

by mesatrafficlights



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: idk just fluff, platonic intimacy is my jam tbh, they're looking at the stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24066109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mesatrafficlights/pseuds/mesatrafficlights
Summary: jet and kobra talk about constellations. and the afterlife.
Relationships: Jet Star & Kobra Kid (Danger Days)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	the freckles in our eyes [are perfectly aligned]

**Author's Note:**

> fuck this is late n short n lowkey shitty n got way too existential but that's ok. come hang out with me on tumblr @mesatrafficlights i'm bored n lonely!

It’s night. Jet’s lying on the sand, not because they’re dead, or lost, or even that tired. He’s looking at the stars.

It’s peaceful outside; there’s a soft breeze twisting its way through the bushes, and the noise from inside the diner is muted into vague sounds that don’t mar the quiet, but the the important thing here is that there’s an entire night sky spread out above him, like someone spilled a tin of glitter and decided to clean it up using the sky. The stars are surprisingly lovely in the Zones, if you ignore the way the sky seems to shift from dark blue to colors it shouldn’t quite be. Jet doesn’t really care, though; they’re just trying to count as many constellations as they can.

They hears the diner door swing open and shut. There’s a crunch of boots in sand. Jet lazily waves a hand in greeting, and Kobra flops down next to them, using their side as a pillow.

He doesn’t break the silence for a while, and they’re both perfectly comfortable with it. Finally he shifts a little. “Wha’ d’ya believe in?” It’s a quiet question, tinged with the kind of dreamy curiosity that only surfaces on late nights in front of burning-out campfires and spilled stars. Jet hums and shifts to run their fingers lazily through his hair.

“Whaddya mean? Like, gods, angels, Destroya, Bigfoot?” 

Kobra shrugs. “Anything.”

They laugh, blow a curl from their face. “Mmm.. I think aliens exist. At least, something that’s on a higher level than us. I saw a UFO once, I think. Maybe they know all the shit that’s happened here, so they don’t come ‘n explore. ‘N ghosts! They’re real, too, d’you know that? They live in the wind, ‘n that’s why you can hear voices, sometimes, when you’re out alone ‘nd it’s windy. Like now.” They raise a hand up, towards the sky and the gently blowing night breeze. “I think the Witch puts peoples’ ghosts in wind like this. Their memories, ‘n stuff. Whatever they loved. Who they were. Dunno. Why’d ya ask?” 

He shrugs again, reaches out to pick a blade of half-dead desert grass. “I dunno either. Jus’ curious. Figured if anyone has the right idea, ‘s probably you.” 

Jet snorts. They look up at the stars, idly tracing constellations. “I wish. M’jus.. tryin’ to figure it out, though. Same as you. ‘S like, there’s so many questions, ya know? ‘N I know they have answers, ‘s just, there’s no one to ask. “ 

Kobra hums, rolling over to stick the piece of grass in their hair. “I’m lucky. That’s what I have you for.”

“Jerk. Hey, is that a constellation, right there? Those guys, see, in a little, little, triangle kinda shape?” They motion vaguely at the sky. 

“Mm, no, but those two? If you look left, see, and you try to connect ‘em with that one, right there, uh, it’s supposed to be a scorpion. With a lil’ tail.” 

Jet laughs. “Yeah, fuck! Never saw that one before.” They pull the grass out of their hair and flick it at him. “See? Tha’s what I got you for.” 

He huffs in protest, but doesn’t move. Grass is probably one of the least weird things he’s had stuck in his hair. “Guess we’re lucky, huh?”

They make a noise of agreement, find his hand, and lace their fingers together lazily. “Maybe the Witch’ll let us share a breeze.”


End file.
